


snippets and sobs

by anemuea



Series: when i can understand your pain, i think you feel less of it [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author is a Toby Smith | Tubbo Apologist, Author simultaneously regrets nothing and everything, Delusions, EXTREMELY self-indulgent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, He just is, I Wrote This While Listening to Mother Mother, I did, I don't feel bad, Implied/Referenced Torture, LIKE ACTUALLY JUST DON'T, Mentioned Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Sam | Awesamdude, Mild Blood, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Ranboo Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), SHIPPERS DNI, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tired Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo Has PTSD, Toby Smith | Tubbo Needs a Hug, Toby Smith | Tubbo-centric, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), UNLESS YOU'RE A DNF SHIPPER. THOSE I DON'T HATE, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot is Floris | Fundy's Parent, Wilbur Soot is Not a Ghost, and also tubbo has like a little bee plushie, and i love them sm, and they get their hugs, as they should - Freeform, author is not okay, can you tell this is my first time publishing an ao3 fic in over a year?, derealisation, he just wants to do x thing and go to sleep in two of these chapters, he never gets to do the thing, however this is not a dnf fic. go read heat waves again /j, i decided i didn't like the egg arc so it just no longer exists. you're welcome, i forgot to mention sapnap has sum spicy self-esteem issues, i love touch up, i love wilbur, i wrote this while listening to crywank, i'm NOT caught up on lore, like EXTREMELY canon-divergent, please i am not okay, quackity is slightly not okay!, ranboo is memory good yeah!!, tbh i don't care about lore i just want my lil family to be okay, their name is bumble and they are canonically nonbeenary, there was no way i was keeping him dead, there's a chance that one of my internet friends will read this so i'm sorry in advance, they just need a lot of hugs, tommy and tubbo and ranboo and wilbur are siblings. there's no tag for it but it's there, tubbo's character gets way too little attention, wilbur is alive!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29526462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anemuea/pseuds/anemuea
Summary: totally self-indulgent tubbo-centric connected oneshots!! i feel like we don't give tubbo's character enough love. so i made an AU. please read notes for trigger warnings <3
Series: when i can understand your pain, i think you feel less of it [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2195064
Comments: 42
Kudos: 225





	1. paperwork

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warnings for panic attacks (descriptive!), attempted suicide, implied/referenced torture, referenced abuse + alcoholism, emesis, blood, derealisation, reality-related delusions, and self-harm.
> 
> shippers DNI.
> 
> please be warned that i base absolutely everything i write on my own experiences (minus the torture!! i'm fine haha), and remember that everybody's experience with mental health issues is different. your panic attacks may not align with mine, and that's okay. just know that i try to write realistically based on my experience.
> 
> backstory out now! these are just angst oneshots because i am horrible haha
> 
> updating every day. six chapters. pre-written.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please be warned that this chapter contains a descriptive panic attack and implied/reference torture.
> 
> i don't expect anyone to read this, but if enough people do, i'll make a backstory type thing!! i really like this au :D

“w-wilbur?”

wilbur runs a weary hand through his hair. he knows who’s there already, just by the waver in their voice.

“hi, tubbo!" wilbur replies cheerfully, looking up from his papers to glance at the doorway briefly. sure enough, tubbo is standing there in pastel green pyjamas, bee plush in arms and tears streaming down his cheeks.

here we go again.

wilbur internally sighs, getting up from his chair to hug the boy. he’s been through way more than any seventeen-year-old should, and situations like this are simply part of recovery. as soon as wilbur reaches his arms out, tubbo falls into them, sobbing, still clutching tight to his bee.

wilbur loves tubbo a lot and doesn’t mind comforting him usually, and that’s the complete truth, but he needs to get these forms filled out before tomorrow afternoon or sam won’t be pleased. he doesn’t have too much time here. maybe he can get niki to stay with tubbo for a bit.

he crouches down to be at eye level with tubbo, wiping tears out of the teen’s eyes. “do you wanna talk about it?”

tubbo sniffles, eyes flicking between wilbur and the stack of paperwork on the desk. “no, i do-n’t w-want to both-bother you. i’m s-sorry.” tubbo doesn’t usually stammer. just after nightmares and panic attacks. this tells wilbur it could be either of those- which honestly isn’t that helpful.

“tubbo, we talked about this last week,” wilbur says kindly (he hopes). “you’re never bothering me when you come to talk to me.” (that’s a lie. it’s two a.m. and wilbur just wants to finish this work and go to sleep.)

“oh,” tubbo says simply. “okay.” wilbur is pretty sure that he’s the only person tubbo will blindly trust anymore, which kind of sucks for the both of them.

“come on, let’s sit down and talk.” wilbur pulls him over to the red couch that sits in the corner of the room. once they’re settled, wilbur is genuinely curious as to what’s upset tubbo.

the younger catches wilbur’s facial expression and takes a deep, shuddering breath. “i had a bad dr- a, a nightmare, i mean. s-sorry.” wilbur always notices how tubbo avoids the word “dream” like the plague. he’s not sure if it’s because of the memories, or the habits he was forced into during the five months he spent in captivity- or possibly even both.

“okay, that’s alright. do you want to tell me what it was about?”

tubbo blinks slightly lethargically, and wilbur can tell that the teen is even more exhausted than he himself is. “i- i was ba-ck th-there, will. he was g-giving me a beating again a-and i didn’t like it and i tr-tried to prote-st and then he- he…”

wilbur draws him into a hug. “shh. it’s okay, tubbo, you’re okay.”

tubbo doesn’t deserve even the tiniest bit of this pain.

“w-when wi-ll tomm-y be b-back?” tubbo mumbles. “sometime next week, tubbo. it’ll be okay.”

wilbur pulls away after a few minutes. he’s pretty sure tubbo will go back to sleep soon, he just needs some time and reassurance. he’ll be okay. wilbur will make sure of it.

at first, wilbur thinks tubbo is asleep, he’s so quiet. he honestly wouldn’t be surprised- he hasn’t seen the kid actually sleep in a while. but as soon as wilbur tries to stand up he opens his eyes wide, reminding wilbur of a lost puppy. frightened, lonely. “pl-please do-n’t leave me, wil-wilbur, please-”

“tubbo, i just have to fill out these forms. you should get some rest.”

tubbo shakes his head vigorously, clinging onto both his bee and wilbur’s arm like lifelines. “ple-please, i d-don’t wan-t to be alone.”

wilbur sighs. “look, if you want you can stay here while i do the work, but i really have t-”

“ _no_!” tubbo cries desperately. “pleas-e, p-please, pl-”

“for _fuck’s sake_!” wilbur yells, wrenching his arm away, shocking even himself. “i _just_ need to do some _fucking_ paperwork.” he clenches and unclenches his fists in a sudden rage. glancing up at tubbo, he sees the kid curled in on himself, trembling, muttering apologies and pleas- and the first thought that enters his annoyance-fuelled mind is “crybaby”.

then he realises he did the one thing he shouldn’t do under any circumstances: he just shouted at the traumatised child.

wilbur, you fucking idiot.

he immediately wraps his arms around tubbo again. fuck, fuck, _fuck_. the teen flinches, hands flying to his head to pull at the longer strands of the hair on it. wilbur does what tommy said to do, gently grabbing his hands and moving them away so that the boy doesn’t hurt himself.

“p-please, plea-se don’t hur-hurt me, i-i’m sorry,” tubbo gasps out, and wilbur nearly cries with him. ever since they rescued the former president, wilbur has been so careful to make sure there’s no loud noises or yelling around him- and now he’s broken his own rule. _shit_.

“hey, hey tubbo, look at me, okay? look at me.” wilbur is disgusted with himself. _he just shouted at the traumatised child_. once tubbo is staring, terrified, into his eyes, he tries to make his voice as gentle as possible. “i’m so, so sorry, tubbo. i didn’t mean to yell, i just- i just got frustrated. you’re not in trouble, you didn’t do anything wrong. you’re okay.”

tubbo wipes his eyes with his sleeve. “s-sorry.”

“you don’t need to apologise. it’s me who needs to apologise.”

tubbo exhales quietly, looking down at his hands. his nails are too long, wilbur notices. he’ll try to convince the boy to let him cut them tomorrow, wilbur decides.

he stands up. “i’m going to go and get that paperwork, but then i’ll come right back here to do it, okay?”

tubbo nods silently in response, and wilbur takes that as an okay.

* * *

niki pokes her head into wilbur’s office at around seven a.m. the next morning to see him and tubbo curled up on the couch together, papers strewn across the floor and the boy’s bee plush nearly falling out of his grasp. wilbur’s soft snores are the only thing penetrating the peaceful silence.

niki smiles contently. she gathers the papers (which wilbur has actually signed, much to her surprise) up off the floor, places the bee back into tubbo’s arms, and leaves the two to sleep, closing the door behind her.


	2. beehive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please be warned that this chapter contains mention of the death penalty, referenced abuse, and a descriptive panic attack.
> 
> jesus christ, the amount of kudos + hits on the first chapter is absolutely overwhelming! it's probably not that much to anyone else, but this seriously means so much to me. thank you!! /g
> 
> pls do leave me a comment if you feel like it!! they give me serotonin and boost my self-esteem and i like that feeling! <3

it’s sapnap’s turn to make breakfast today. the toast comes out of the furnace burnt, and wilbur grits his teeth and scrapes the charcoal off his plate.

sapnap feels guilty.

“thank you, sapnap,” tubbo says politely, spinning the bread around to find an edible part, and then he doesn’t feel as bad. the kid is okay. dream may have damaged him pretty badly- sapnap has seen the recordings- but he’s not broken. sapnap’s pretty sure about that.

wilbur clears his throat and stands up, grabbing a tie from beside him on the kitchen table. he looks over at tubbo, who seems to have given up on the toast and is now picking at his fingernails and humming to himself.

“tubbo? i’m going over to see sam and puffy now. you’ve got to come too, but you can see the bees, yeah? i’ll wait for you to get ready,” wilbur says, and sapnap doesn’t miss how gentle his voice is. how careful he is around tubbo. sapnap also doesn’t miss how the boy flinches at the mention of his name, even with wilbur’s warm tone.

all the same, tubbo grins up at wilbur and gives him a nod. “okay! i’ll put my shoes on, hold on.” he gets up and walks into the living room, and wilbur sighs in relief. when sapnap tilts his head questioningly, he explains, “i think today will be a good day for him.”

sapnap is glad.

tubbo comes back into the kitchen a moment later, this time with shoes on. he looks to be wearing one of wilbur’s sweaters, just judging by how big it is on him. the boy is basically vibrating with excitement, bouncing up and down on his heels. “am i allowed to pick some flowers for puffy?”

sapnap knows that puffy is one of the few people that tubbo can talk to without freaking out afterwards. he also knows that sam is not on this list, and he also knows that he himself is not on this list. it makes perfect sense for tubbo to want to make a kind gesture- that seems like the kid’s whole thing. give all the time, receive once in a while. well, up until… then.

sapnap isn’t sure tubbo actually realises he’s been treated badly all his life. he’s not self-aware. never has been, not in the many years that sapnap has known him.

wilbur smiles. “of course you’re allowed! go and get some from out the front if you want, i’ll be there in a minute.” tubbo claps his hands once in joy, practically skipping out the door. as soon as he’s gone, sapnap turns to wilbur. “what’s happening with sam and puffy- where’s niki?“

wilbur looks down, brushing crumbs off his grey suit. “well, niki and quackity met up with tommy and fundy the other day. they’re trying to find dream. should be back soon, don’t know when, though. sam, puffy, and i are sorting out the sentence today. we were supposed to about two weeks ago, but… you know, yeah?”

“and you really think it’s a good idea to have tubbo where he can hear you discussing his abuser’s legal punishment? don’t you think that will freak him out?” sapnap is almost asking this rhetorically, kind of wanting to accompany them to see sam and puffy. but wilbur responds with a short, “well, we’ll probably need him to confirm a couple of things. besides, he’s going to see the bees.”

“alone?”

wilbur’s brow furrows. “i know what you’re getting at here, sap. come, but don’t make any loud noises or get too close to him. got it?”

sapnap nods, and they finally exit the house. wilbur approaches tubbo, who’s now holding a small bouquet of cornflowers and lilies, and bends down to whisper something in his ear. tubbo nods and smiles shyly at sapnap.

sapnap waves.

* * *

they’re halfway there when tubbo inhales sharply, stops short, and says, “oh.” wilbur glances at him. “something wrong, tubs?”

he shakes his head. “n-no.” sapnap notices he’s holding onto his flowers very tightly now. he doesn’t say anything. he figures this is wilbur’s domain, and watches as he bends down to look tubbo in the eyes. the boy mumbles something, and wilbur’s mouth forms a small “o”.

“do you want to go back for them?” wilbur asks softly. tubbo shakes his head again, and they keep walking. sapnap isn’t sure what’s going on, but he follows the two anyway.

when they get there ten minutes later, puffy is sitting at the table outside her house sipping what sapnap guesses is coffee. she smiles when she sees them. “hello wilbur, hi sapnap, hey tubbo! how are you doing?”

tubbo runs over, holding out his flowers, seemingly cheered up. “i picked some flowers for you! they’re just cornflowers and lilies, but i thought they were pretty.”

“they are pretty!” puffy agrees, taking the flowers and placing them on the table. “thank you, tubbo.”

tubbo smiles, and wilbur steps forth, ruffling the younger’s hair. “tubs and sapnap were going to go to the beehive while we discuss… business, is that okay with you?”

puffy looked after the bees while tubbo was gone. sapnap knows this because he would come and watch her tend to the hives she moved to her garden for half an hour, every day, for five months straight. the bees are hers and tubbo’s now. sapnap knows this because of the spruce sign outside the garden reading **_tubbo’s and puffy’s bees- do not enter or take honey without permission!_ ** in splotchy peach-coloured paint.

puffy nods enthusiastically. “sure! sam is just inside, wilbur.” sapnap smiles at her uncertainly, and she gives him a blank stare in return. tubbo is completely oblivious, heading around the side to see the bees.

sapnap follows.

he watches tubbo stroke the bees lovingly. sometimes it hurts that nobody trusts him anymore- why should they? what reason would anybody have? it still hurts.

he clears his throat, attempting to alleviate the silence that befalls the garden. “uh, do they- do they, uh, have names?” he asks lamely, immediately berating himself in his head. _god, you’re such an idiot. fucking hell. just stop talking, you never say anything of worth_.

tubbo doesn’t seem to mind, turning to him, a bee in his hands. “well, this one’s called nirah. and-” he gestures towards another, smaller bee- “that one is lioral. she’s the youngest. she was born just last week, puffy says! i was asleep for that, though. i think. that’s what wilbur says. i wish i hadn’t been…” tubbo trails off, suddenly looking mortified. “i’m sorry, am i talking too much?”

sapnap shakes his head. “nonono! keep talking, you’re fine.” tubbo stares for a moment, and then smiles. “okay!”

wilbur was right. today seems like a good day for him.

speak of the devil. wilbur’s voice echoes out from inside the house, making tubbo jump and nearly drop the bee he’s holding. “ _what_?” wilbur shouts, incredulity evident in his voice. “are you fucking _insane_? there’s no way either of them will ever agree to that!”

puffy’s mellow tone says something that sapnap doesn’t quite catch, but then wilbur responds with, “you’re _kidding_ me. not you too?”

sapnap gets the idea that this isn’t something tubbo should be hearing. “hey, tubbo,” he tries, earning a fearful glance from the boy. “y-yes?” he replies nervously, releasing the bee and hugging himself tightly.

“how about we go over to the, uh… away?” sapnap has a mind blank. he can’t think of anywhere else to go. he just can’t fail wilbur. he can’t upset tubbo.

“not the _fucking_ death penalty, do you realise how insane that is?!” wilbur’s voice says in disbelief.

fuck.

tubbo’s hands begin to shake and he brings them up to his hair, pulling at it roughly. he sinks to his knees slowly. his breathing speeds up, and small sobs start coming out of his mouth. shit, _shit_ , sapnap doesn’t know how to fix this. _fuck_.

he walks over to tubbo, doing what he’s seen wilbur do a thousand times before. bringing him into a warm hug, stopping him from hurting himself as the boy’s chest heaves and his shoulders shudder.

sapnap isn’t sure that this is working.

“wh-wher-re’s- i nee-d, i-” tubbo chokes out, his breath coming in short, shaky bursts.

wilbur still shouts inside puffy’s house. tubbo cries harder. sapnap doesn’t know what do. he puts his hands over tubbo’s ears, attempting to block out the noises. he doesn’t know if he should say anything. he’s not sure if it will help, or just freak tubbo out even more.

they stay like that for what sapnap’s sure is over ten minutes, tubbo’s sobs slowly ceasing. the poor kid looks exhausted, dark bags underneath his eyes. sapnap uncovers his ears briefly. “maybe you should get some sleep, dude,” he suggests. tubbo shakes his head immediately, breath hitching. “okay,” sapnap says. he doesn’t mind.

wilbur has stopped shouting now. sapnap honestly doesn’t think it was the raised voice that upset tubbo. most likely the mention of the death penalty.

sapnap doesn’t particularly want dream to be executed.

 _dream mentally and physically abused two kids. he deserves it_ , says the small voice of logic in the back of his mind. _but dream was our best friend!_ , argues the more emotional, sentimental part of him. sapnap knows he doesn’t have a say in it. it’s up to tubbo- and tommy, once he comes back.

sapnap strongly doubts that tubbo will want dream to be executed.

“s-sapna-ap?” tubbo asks quietly. sapnap looks down at the boy. “yeah?”

“wh-when is tom-my coming bac-k? wilb-bur said t-two weeks ag-ago that it would b-be th-e next we-ek, and h-he’s still gone…”

“soon, tubbo. he’ll be back soon. we’re in touch with him, he’s safe with niki and fundy and quackity, okay?” sapnap tries to reassure himself just as much as he does tubbo.

tubbo sniffs, exhaling slightly. “i, i l-left bu-umble at h-hom-me. i-i want them back.”

“who… who’s bumble?”

“m-y b-bee.”

the bee plush. of _course_. sapnap has seen tubbo take bumble everywhere he can. he can only assume that they’re a comfort item of sorts. he opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, wilbur appears at the garden gate. his mouth falls open slightly, and he runs over, placing a hand on tubbo’s shoulder. “tubbo? hey, what happened? did sapnap-”

tubbo blinks. “n-no.”

wilbur still seems sceptical, so sapnap says, “he heard you shouting.” wilbur swears under his breath, turning tubbo towards him. “hey, tubbo, we need you to come inside for a moment, yeah?”

sapnap isn’t too sure what happens after that. wilbur picks tubbo up, brings him inside, and five minutes later walks outside again with the boy kicking and screaming in his arms. puffy runs after them, hand outstretched, but wilbur tells her to “get away.” and keeps heading home. he gestures for sapnap to follow, so he does, watching as the boy’s sobs eventually die down and his arms and legs fall limp.

sapnap hopes dream isn’t going to be executed.

* * *

sapnap stares awkwardly as wilbur takes his suit jacket off a few hours later when it’s dark outside and throws it across the room. sitting down in an armchair, the man exhales slowly, shaking his head. “i- that could not have gone worse.”

sapnap isn’t sure what to say.

wilbur looks up at him. “i’m sorry you had to deal with that. i should have kept my calm, i- that wasn’t fair on you. i’ve fucked up a lot lately.”

it took four hours to get tubbo to sleep.

“does that happen often?” sapnap asks curiously, sitting down on the couch opposite the armchair. “what, panic attacks?” wilbur confirms. when sapnap nods, he continues. “yeah. he used to have them a little bit before the- you know, but after that, they just… increased tenfold, i suppose. he’s… tubbo’s not… doing well, mentally. i don’t know how to fix it.”

“why do you never just plainly mention what happened? like, why do you always say ‘the you-know’ and ‘it’- why’s that?” sapnap questions, glancing towards the door to tubbo’s bedroom. hoping he can’t hear them talking.

“tubbo doesn’t like talking about it, so i figured the best way to not mention it in front of him is to not talk about it at all,” wilbur replies, running a hand through his slightly greying hair. “you- you’ve seen the recordings, right? you were there at the viewing?”

the recordings. a series of video tapes dedicated to tubbo describing everything dream did to him in captivity for evidence. for the sentence. sapnap doesn’t understand why the sentence is so important, why the kid can’t just catch a break. wilbur and niki held a small viewing of the recordings last month, to fill everyone in. sapnap was there. sapnap has seen the recordings.

of course sapnap’s seen the recordings.

he says this last part, and wilbur scowls. “i wasn’t sure if you’d want to accept that your ex-best friend is an abusive, manipulative dickhead. thought you might have wanted to skip the viewing so you could keep on living in your own little world.”

sapnap blinks, slightly offended. “will, i’m not- i’m not on his side anymore. you know that, right?”

before wilbur can answer, the front door bursts open to reveal niki, battered and bruised, sword hanging loosely from her right hand. wilbur stands up immediately, rushing over to catch her as she sways on the spot and collapses into his arms.

“niki!” wilbur gasps, cradling her tightly. “niki, can you hear me? sap, get me some bandages and a healing potion from that chest over there- and, uh, yeah, grab a gapple- quickly! shit, niki…”

* * *

fifteen minutes later niki is sitting wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, having eaten a gapple and taken wilbur’s last healing potion. he’s wrapping her leg in a heavy gauze and speaking in a monotone voice while she nods every once in a while.

sapnap observes from the sidelines.

“okay,” mutters wilbur, standing and propping niki’s leg up on the coffee table. “now- what happened? where are fundy and tommy?”

niki sighs, leaning back. “well- okay, so, we found dream. but, but, but- wait-” she says hastily, seeing wilbur’s eyebrows shoot up immediately, “he was… he was stacked, wilbur. he has netherite gear, full enchantments, gapples, pots… he’s- he’s overpowered. we found him camping out in the side of a mountain, so we tried to attack. tommy and quackity went in from the left, fundy from the right, and me from the front. he placed some TNT and i guess i got caught in the explosion, because the next thing i knew i was lying on the ground with tommy, quackity, and fundy standing over me. we mistook a damage potion for a healing one while we were running because it was dark and i drank it- i don’t know why it wasn’t splash.

“then they gave me some milk. i was still so low, though. they put me on a horse with some bread and water, and they said they were fine and that i should go home to heal. they’re okay- they have gear now, and it’s three versus one if it comes to it. i-” niki begins coughing harshly, and sapnap winces. wilbur puts a hand on her shoulder.

“you should get some rest, niki. we can discuss this more in the morning, and i’ll ask puffy to come over- we’ve nearly sorted out a sentence for when we catch him. also, do you know when they’ll be back?”

niki shakes her head silently.

“um,” sapnap says, pointing towards his bedroom. “i’m gonna, uh- yeah. goodnight will, niki.”

they both wave, and sapnap walks out of the room and into the hallway. as he does so, tubbo’s door opens with a small _creak_ , and the boy walks out, feet padding on the oak plank floor. sapnap hears wilbur walk over to hug him, to advise he goes back to sleep. he hesitates, and hears tubbo’s voice say, “is tommy back too?”

sapnap feels horrible.


	3. chat message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please be warned that this chapter contains a suicide attempt, reality-related delusions, referenced alcohol abuse, and referenced physical abuse.
> 
> hhholy fuck?? thank you so much for the two kind comments i got?! like seriously thank you so much!! please do leave me some more if you want, they do make me v happy! <3
> 
> i am now creating backstory! :)

niki awakens to shouting. she gets up, rubbing her eyes, and quickly checks the communicator on the side of her arm. _5:41 a.m._ she groans, walking out of her bedroom and into the hallway.

it’s been eight days since she got back. her leg is still… still getting there, and sapnap has gone on a short trip to find more farm animals and livestock. it’s just her, wilbur, tubbo, and ranboo- who’s come to stay permanently, much to tubbo’s delight- in the house.

she finds wilbur pacing, frenzied, around the living room, and a bored-looking ranboo perched on the arm of a chair. the teen looks up as niki walks into the room, and then huffs in exasperation. “see, will? now you’ve woken niki up, and soon you’ll wake tubbo up as well, and didn’t you say he needs his sleep?”

wilbur makes a strangled noise that doesn’t sound remotely human, throwing his hands up in the air. “look, i don’t- i don’t know what you want me to do, this is all just way too much at the moment! if we just ignore it there might be c-”

“ _hello_?” niki asks, irritated. wilbur stops his rambling and waves at her unenthusiastically. “hey, niki. anyway-”

niki cuts him off for a second time: “is anybody going to explain what happened? or…”

ranboo rolls his eyes, inspecting his nails nonchalantly. “we got a chat message from tommy earlier and wilbur’s freaking out.”

“he said ‘we found dream, help’ and then went out of range again! what’s not to freak out about?!” wilbur says indignantly.

“look, i’m sure he’s f-”

“so,” niki interrupts again (she’s starting to enjoy it slightly), staring at the british man. “when did you receive the message?”

“two hours ago,” replies ranboo. niki sighs, turning her back on the two. “i’m going back to sleep. you guys should do the same if you’ve been here since four in the morning with no sleep.”

suddenly, ranboo points a stark-white finger towards the hallway in triumph, a jubilant expression spreading across his face as tubbo opens his door. “aha!” he cries, glancing at wilbur. “what did i say to you, dumbass? i said, ‘soon you’ll wake tubbo up as well’, and now tubbo’s awake, can you owe me something now? i sort of need emeralds at the moment.”

“shut up,” wilbur hisses, watching tubbo stumble over to the couch. they sit down together, and niki watches ranboo roll his eyes again.

“hey, tubbo. sorry we woke you up,” wilbur says softly. “how are you feeling today?”

“tired… ’s too early,” tubbo slurs, waving his hand in a careless manner. “yeah, it’s pretty early,” wilbur responds, chuckling. “why don’t you get back to sleep, yeah?”

the boy nods, closing his eyes right then and there. “wait, no, tubbo, i didn’t mean-”

niki can’t help but laugh as wilbur attempts to push tubbo off his shoulder to no avail, and ranboo offers a reluctant smile.

“’s tommy back yet, will?” tubbo murmurs, half-asleep.

“soon. we got a message from him earlier, we-”

tubbo instantly shoots up with a gasp, somehow fully awake. “is he okay?”

“yes, he’s fine! don’t worry, tubbo. go back to sleep,” wilbur tries to reassure him. “i’ll wake you up at nine.” but tubbo won’t budge. “no no, what if he’s hurt, or- or dead?”

ranboo slowly slides off the armchair and onto the floor. niki looks away briefly, not wanting to intrude on anything. “he’s not, tubbo. he’s okay,” wilbur says.

tubbo stares at nothing, hands shaking and a look of pure terror on his face. “it’s just like in my- my…”

“go to _sleep_ , tubbo,” wilbur says gently, taking tubbo’s hands in his own. “it’ll be okay.” tubbo pulls his hands back with a shriek, breathing way too quickly. “ _no_! he’s dead, and you didn’t even- you didn’t even tell me!”

“he’s not dead,” ranboo says. “honestly. he’s fine, tubbo, it’ll be okay-”

niki watches as tears well up in tubbo’s eyes and he stands up, grabbing wilbur’s netherite sword off the coffee table. she immediately steps forward. “hey, tubbo, don’t-”

she freezes in place as he brandishes the sword in her face, hands trembling and lip nearly bleeding from how hard he’s biting it. ranboo gets up, approaching the boy slowly, and wilbur tries to come at him from behind, but tubbo whirls around, grazing his brother’s cheek with the tip of the blade. the man winces slightly, lifting his hand to his face and coming away with blood on his fingers.

“y-you didn’t even tell me…” whispers tubbo, voice breaking with each syllable. ranboo takes a healing potion from his inventory, tossing it to wilbur, and walks toward tubbo calmly, not even hesitating as the younger turns around, cringing back with his arms extended to push the sword further. “tubbo, i don’t know what you think happened, but tommy is fine and safe,” the bi-coloured teen says, and niki is shocked at how easily the half-lie slips off his tongue. “we’re thinking of sending a couple of people after him, fundy, and quackity soon, just to be absolutely certain. he’s okay, though. i promise.”

“he- he’s not,” tubbo protests lamely, nearly dropping the sword. “you- you’re lying!”

niki wants to cry, barely recognising this shell of the boy she used to know. the happy-go-lucky, carefree, cheerful child that she watched wilbur raise along with his boisterous, loud brother, all those years ago.

tubbo runs out of the house, and ranboo slams a hand down on the table in frustration. “ _fuck_!” wilbur downs the healing potion, coughing, and wipes his mouth as the graze on his cheek seals over. grabbing his coat from a kitchen stool, he follows his brother out the door. niki glances at ranboo. “my- my leg still isn’t the greatest, but i’ll go with them. you coming?”

ranboo nods. “of course. he’s got a netherite sword and several mental health conditions, that’s not a good mix.”

niki hadn’t thought about… that.

the two hurry out of the house, and niki swears loudly, seeing that it’s raining. _absolutely pissing it down_ , as tommy would say. ranboo ducks back inside, grabs a helmet, and they set off.

they turn left, hearing nothing but the steadily falling rain and seeing nothing but a few cows and sheep grazing the muddy grass. nobody is out at the moment. they turn right, and all there is is a cliff.

a cliff with a bench.

a cliff with a bench and a jukebox.

a cliff with tubbo on the edge of it, sword still in hand and wilbur a few metres away, arm outstretched.

niki and ranboo stop short, the latter covering his mouth with his hands. “fuck,” he mutters.

niki doesn’t want to think about what could happen if tubbo… jumps. she makes her way over to wilbur, glancing at him with a worried expression on her face. “tubbo?” she calls.

tubbo doesn’t answer, eyes darting around nervously. niki isn’t sure if he sees her, really. “tubbo, you don’t have to do this,” she says, and then she knows he’s seen her. he looks right at her, trembling, sword still in his shaking hands. “yes i do,” he says simply, taking another step backward. “of c-course i do.” wilbur’s breath hitches audibly, and she puts a clammy hand on his arm. _let me handle this_ , the touch says. _it’ll be okay_ , the touch says.

“why?” niki asks. it’s an honest question. she’s not sure how they got here, one moment being in wilbur’s living room and the next talking a seventeen-year-old down from suicide.

“you- you don’t un-nders-stand, niki, i-”

“then help me understand, tubbo! please, we love you. so much. so… why? why do you have to die?”

it takes tubbo a moment to respond, but when he does, niki’s heart practically shatters in half at how utterly hopeless and lost he sounds.

“w-what’s the poin-nt in living without t-tom-my living too?”

niki steps forward. “tommy _is_ living, tubbo. i’ll be honest, he sent us a pretty worrying message and there’s no point in keeping that from you, but he is still alive. he’s just out of range. so _please_ , tubbo, step away from the edge. we won’t hurt you, you’re not in trouble, we’re not mad at you or disappointed or whatever you think we are- we love you, and we want you to be okay. we want to help you.”

tubbo lowers the sword reluctantly, still looking wary. “h-how do i know you-you’re not- not lying?”

“i wouldn’t lie about something like this, tubbo. none of us would,” niki raises her voice so that the boy can hear her over the sound of the pounding rain. this proves to be a mistake as he flinches back at the noise, stumbling slightly.

the edge of the cliff crumbles beneath tubbo’s feet.

ranboo shouts, niki gasps, and wilbur screams.

and tubbo yelps, tripping forwards as the ground practically disappears underneath him. collapsing in a heap on the ground with the sword landing beside him, its purple glow making slight vibrations.

niki and wilbur immediately rush towards him, her taking the sword over for ranboo to hold onto before anything else can happen, and him cradling his brother like he’s a child again.

perhaps he is, in a way.

she listens to tubbo’s terrified sobs, listens to his cries of remorse. hears him begging for wilbur not to hurt him.

the boy is broken, she realises.

niki tilts her head at wilbur, signalling that they should get back home before the rain gets too bad. she knows ranboo isn’t liking it, and it can’t be doing wonders for tubbo’s physical health- or anyone’s, for that matter.

wilbur nods, picking tubbo up in his arms and walking forth onto the path. the boy is weeping and shivering. niki predicts a cold, and says to wilbur, “should you give him your coat until we get home?”

he nods again, somehow taking the coat off while still managing to hold onto tubbo, and placing the material around his brother, who leans into its warmth like it’s his only source of comfort. (it might just be.) “it’s okay,” wilbur mutters quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of tubbo’s head. “you’re okay.”

* * *

it’s seven in the morning, and niki is already exhausted.

she and wilbur make sure tubbo is tucked in bed, and then the british man bursts into soft, horrified tears. she wraps him in a tight hug, bringing him out into the living room. ranboo is asleep, curled up in the armchair. niki and wilbur settle down on the couch, the former rubbing circles into her friend’s back as he sits there sobbing, letting his emotions out for the first time in goodness knows how long.

they pass out there eventually.

* * *

at four p.m., niki wakes up to find wilbur staring out the window and ranboo pottering around in the kitchen. it’s still raining. she walks over to wilbur, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“hey,” she says quietly, and he glances at her, but doesn’t respond. “you okay?” she asks. he exhales shakily, turning his back to the window. “he- he almost _died_ , niki! he almost died…”

wilbur holds his hand up when niki opens her mouth to speak. “what if… what if you hadn’t been there to talk him down? what if you hadn’t said enough? what if he hadn’t believed you? what if tommy isn’t okay and fundy isn’t okay and quackity isn’t okay and we actually _were_ lying to him the entire time and dream killed them and-”

“you’re rambling, wilbur,” ranboo interrupts calmly. niki pulls him over to the couch again and hugs him. “tubbo is alive, will, and that’s all that matters. and i’m sure tommy and the others are okay as well. really.”

“but what if-”

“no more ‘what if’s, will,” niki scolds him lightly, pressing her finger to his nose. “you should get some sleep, okay? today’s been… stressful. it’ll be okay.”

“i slept already.”

“for how long?”

he doesn’t answer.

* * *

six p.m. and niki and ranboo have finally convinced wilbur to sleep for a while. the two spend the rest of the day baking cookies and sharing old, embarrassing stories, while trying not to get biscuit crumbs everywhere or wake wilbur or tubbo up.

ranboo snickers at niki’s retelling of one of tommy’s wildest childhood adventures, and they both immediately shut up when wilbur stirs slightly in his sleep. they had considered moving him to his bedroom but ultimately decided against it, not wanting to disturb him.

after a couple of minutes, niki sighs, seeing he isn’t about to wake up. ranboo pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.

“don’t tell wilbur i said this, but i… i almost agree with him. that was scary as fuck- i just can’t help thinking, what if he _had_ jumped?”

niki doesn’t respond for a moment. finally, she shakes her head, setting her biscuit down on a saucer. “that doesn’t matter, though. he didn’t jump. what could have happened isn’t important, i don’t think.”

“i guess, but… i don’t know. it was just, really scary, is all.”

“i know,” niki replies. “i’m just… i’m just glad he’s safe now. maybe he’s not okay, but at least he’s safe.”

ranboo hums quietly, picking a raisin out of his cookie. “do you remember when he first got back?”

niki remembers. she remembers that time more than she’d like. she remembers their search party finding tubbo in a cave, exhausted, malnourished, injured, feverish, and traumatised. she remembers travelling all the way to snowchester a few days later to get tubbo’s beloved bee plush when he couldn’t breathe after wilbur reached out to touch his cheek, she remembers wilbur struggling to calm him down, she remembers trying desperately to wake tommy up until he came and calmed tubbo down. she remembers how injured tubbo was; physically and emotionally. she remembers how he flinched back at every single sudden noise, she remembers how he couldn’t get out of bed for nearly a month. she remembers how he would wake up screaming and crying practically every night, she remembers how his body would reject every last bit of food it was given. she remembers how he didn’t sleep for more than an hour per night for the first five weeks. she remembers how he said he wasn’t allowed any more than that.

niki remembers everything.

“yep,” she says. “clear as day.”

ranboo nods awkwardly, swallowing the raisin. “that was… that was shit. that was awful. i… it was really scary.”

niki sighs. “yeah.”

a few seconds pass in silence until ranboo says, seemingly on impulse, “do you- do you remember before everything happened? before the wars? before the exile? before dream, before schlatt? do you remember how- how happy tommy and tubbo were?”

“sometimes i want to cry just thinking about it,” niki admits, twisting her hands together. “we- we ruined them, ranboo. all of us. we ruined you too.”

ranboo doesn’t appear to have a reply to this.

* * *

at one a.m, wilbur and tubbo are both still asleep. niki and ranboo are okay with it- they figure the two deserve a break after everything that’s being thrown at them.

there’s a soft knock on the door. niki gets up to answer it, ranboo staring after her cautiously. as she’s about to twist the wrought-iron handle, drawing her sword just in case, she hears a loud _thunk_ , followed by a dutch voice scolding in a hushed tone, “tommy! don’t do that, it’s bad manners.”

niki lets out a loud gasp, dropping her sword and wrenching the door open. “oh my- holy shit! you’re back!”

tommy, fundy, and quackity stand there, weapons in hands. the youngest grins at her, reaching his arms out for a hug, and she obliges, wrapping her arms around him like she plans never to let go.

eventually she does, moving to the side for the others to come inside. “are you guys okay?” she asks worriedly, scanning tommy for any sign of visible injury. “did dream do anything?”

“relax, niki,” tommy reassures her, eyeing the plate of biscuits on the table, a gleam of desire in his eyes. “we’re fine. could i have a few of those, though, d’you think?”

niki nods, and ranboo stands up. “what was with that last chat message, then? ‘we found dream, help’? talk about ominous. freaked tubbo out a _lot_.” fundy whips around to face tommy, who’s stuffed his face with cookies. “what the fuck, tommy?”

tommy frowns, placing his fingers over his mouth briefly before swallowing. “well fundy, first of all that’s very rude of you to assume that _i_ was the one to do anything wrong. it could easily have been big Q, he’s a bit of an idiot-”

“hey!“ quackity protests, affronted. fundy groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “go on, tommy.”

“second of all,” tommy continues, pausing for what niki assumes is supposed to be dramatic effect, “yes, it was me. sorry.”

fundy opens his mouth, presumably to lecture tommy on common sense, but then wilbur groans from the couch. niki glances at his horizontal position, and tommy raises his eyebrows. “oi, pissbaby!“ he exclaims, tossing a sheet of paper at his brother’s face. wilbur immediately flinches, opening his eyes. “what the _actual_ fu- tommy?”

tommy nods, grabbing another biscuit. wilbur shoots up, walking over to the table and examining tommy, exactly as niki had done. “are you okay? what happened, where’s dream?”

“dead,” tommy replies nonchalantly, pulling away from wilbur’s hands. quackity scoffs. “he’s not dead, don’t talk shit. he’s unconscious at puffy’s house, actually. dropped him off before we came here.”

“good,” wilbur says. “i can kill him myself.” he plays this last part off as a joke, and everybody laughs half-heartedly, but niki knows he’s serious.

fundy clears his throat, shuffling awkwardly. “hi, dad.” wilbur instantly turns to him, and niki smiles as they hug. wilbur always hates to admit it, but he’s more sensitive than he lets on, and she knows he’s missed his son over the past month or so that he’s been gone.

ranboo and quackity walk into the kitchen, the former saying something about melons.

“where’s tubbo, anyway?” tommy asks suddenly. “he’s here, right?”

niki chuckles. “yeah, he’s here, but he’s asleep at the moment. it _is_ about one in the morning. you could have picked a better time to return.”

tommy looks down, twisting his hands together. “i- i hope i didn’t worry him too much with the chat message. that- that was really dumb of me. i _am_ sorry- honestly.”

niki sits down as ranboo and quackity rejoin the larger group with half a watermelon. “to be fair, he didn’t really find out what it said. he kind of just… assumed it was something terrible and wouldn’t listen when we tried to tell him otherwise.”

“then he attempted suicide,” ranboo chimes in helpfully. tommy spits his biscuit out, quackity drops the watermelon, and fundy’s brow furrows. quite frankly, niki is of the opinion that two of these reactions are a little overboard.

“thank you, ranboo,” niki says sarcastically, eyeing tommy’s spat-out biscuit with disdain.

“is- is he okay? holy shit,” tommy says, eyes wide. wilbur sighs, sitting down as well. “he’s fine physically. maybe a bit sick, but we’ll try to circumvent that. it’s his mental health we need to worry about, mostly.”

“how’s he doing on that front?” quackity asks quietly. “can’t be too good.”

“not good at all,” wilbur answers, staring at the wall. “like, i don’t think we’ve had a consecutive week go by without some sort of mental breakdown. he wakes up screaming and crying some nights, he’ll hyperventilate at loud noises, he flinches at the mention of his own name, he… he’s… he’s definitely not okay. i don’t know how to fix it.”

quackity hums in response. “how is he with alcohol?”

niki gives a short laugh. “he doesn’t drink it. he’s seventeen.”

“that is good!” tommy says matter-of-factly. “he should not develop an alcohol problem.”

“please shut up,” fundy groans, exasperated.

“why would he be anything but neutral with alcohol?” wilbur asks, and quackity raises his eyebrows. “you don’t know?”

“don’t know what?” niki queries.

quackity sighs. “just… i mean, the situation with schlatt was way worse than we ever let on. he was an asshole. truly. he would hit us and force us to drink with him and stuff… it was so awful to see, every time tubbo inevitably got drunk and just broke down, i guess. it was really bad there. i figured he wouldn’t want anything much to do with alcohol.”

niki feels sick. it’s twisted, how much all these kids have had to go through. it absolutely sucks.

“i… we never knew about that,” wilbur says softly. quackity waves a hand dismissively. “it’s fine. might have contributed to tubbo’s problems, though.”

niki sighs, seeing ranboo rub his eyes out of the corner of hers. “okay, we should all get some sleep now. it’s late, and wilbur, don’t you have a meeting with sam and puffy t-”

she’s interrupted by a sudden shriek from down the hall. _tubbo’s room_ , she realises. wilbur immediately swears under his breath and begins walking towards the room, but tommy stands up and pushes in front of his brother. “wilbur, i would like to see tubbo, please.”

“n-no, tommy, not now. he’s woken up from a nightmare, or something. you don’t want to see him right now.”

“i always want to see tubbo,” tommy replies stubbornly, and wilbur hesitates. “you need to calm him down, and he won’t be coherent, and he’s not- he’s not like he used to be. remember that.”

“you say that like i didn’t see him before i went after dream. i don’t need a warning, wilby. it’s okay.”

and then he disappears into tubbo’s room.


	4. off-key ringing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please be warned that this chapter contains a descriptive panic attack (limited third person from their perspective), slight blood, and emesis.
> 
> fuck man, i didn't expect people to like this at all and now we have nearly a hundred kudos? seriously, thank you guys so much!! you honestly have no idea how much this means to me. like, i look at fanfictions on wattpad and the author's notes are all "thanks for 1k reads" and i think to myself, how?? how does that happen?? now it's, like... halfway happened to me, and that's insane. thank you.
> 
> this chapter is pretty short but hey!! it's something. (it progresses nothing in this plot it's just filler DFKLJSDK)
> 
> as always, comments + concrit are very much appreciated!! <3

tubbo is drenched in a layer of cold sweat when he wakes up, shaking and shivering despite the intense pain that comes with movement. he can’t see anything but a dim green chequered pattern, and all he hears is ringing that he knows wilbur would describe as off-key if he were here.

breathing is too hard to manage right now. hands are clutching at his chest and throat- he realises that they’re _his_ hands and panics, letting out a small scream, throwing his arms up in the air and grabbing at parts of his hair. his blankets stick to his bare legs and he wants them off him, he wants them off _right now_ , he can’t breathe, it’s too hard. tubbo begins to rock back and forth, his heart lurching and burning, his hands trembling way too much for him to be okay. he’s not okay. he’ll admit it now. he’s absolutely not okay.

nobody is here with him.

tubbo is all alone.

and then tommy is there. tommy, his best friend. tommy, his brother. tommy, who hasn’t been there in a full month. tommy, who dream said never even spared him a second thought. (tubbo isn’t sure if that’s true anymore- not since he came back.) tommy is there, gently pulling tubbo’s hands away from his head and hugging him tightly, but not too tightly. tommy is there. maybe tubbo’s a little more okay now. _maybe_.

he hears a soft hum replace the harsh ringing as tommy murmurs words of comfort into his ear. “it’s okay, tubbo. you’re okay. breathe, breathe- in and out, in and out. slowly now. there we go. you’re okay, big man. there we go.”

tubbo gradually- slowly but surely- begins to feel okay again. breathing is no longer impossible. tommy is there. is tommy there?

tubbo hasn’t been _trying_ to, but he’s made two crescent moon-shaped indentations in his palms. they’re bleeding. he can feel the warm liquid sliding down his wrists and onto the bedsheets. dream won’t like that- these were new sheets, he _really_ won’t like that, he’ll be really really mad-

“-ey, hey, tubbo! tubbo? can you hear me, big man?” that’s tommy’s voice, but he knows that if he opens his eyes it’ll be dream sitting there. or schlatt. he’s back there again, he’s right back there, no no no nonononono this isn’t happening it can’t be stop it stop it stop it-

“tubbo, please open your eyes, i’m right here. you’re okay.” tommy’s voice again. if tubbo opens his eyes it’ll be a gamble between “tommy” being dream, or “tommy” being schlatt. tubbo doesn’t know anymore. he doesn’t want it to be either- he’s not sure which will be worse.

he can’t breathe again.

tubbo feels bile rising in his throat. he doesn’t want to be sick. he doesn’t want dream/schlatt to hurt him. he doesn’t want-

and then someone is rubbing his back as he throws up all over his bed, stomach expelling whatever was left of its contents. not much, just some bread and apple. he hasn’t been eating much lately. his nose stings really badly, he wishes it would just stop.

soon tubbo has nothing left to vomit and he rubs his mouth with a shaky hand, opening his eyes cautiously. _f_ _ace the music_.

tubbo is surprised when it’s actually tommy who’s in front of him. he wasn’t expecting that. “t-tommy?” he whispers uncertainly. 

“yeah, big man. it’s me. it’s okay, i’m here, i’ve got you,” tommy replies. he lifts a hand and tubbo recoils, flinching back before anything even happens. he regrets it almost immediately. it’s worse when he resists, he’s learnt. “i’m s-sor-ry, sorr-y,” he apologises profusely, hiccups punctuating his words. “i’m sorry-y.”

tommy looks shocked. sad. confused, maybe. tubbo doesn’t know why- shouldn’t he be angry? why isn’t he angry? tommy opens his mouth, drawing his hand back. “tubbo- i’m not going to hurt you, tubbo. you’re okay.”

“r-really?” tubbo isn’t convinced. he knows not to trust anything anyone says. he’s been taught not to trust anything anyone says.

“really. i’m here, tubs. it’s okay, you’ll be okay.”

tubbo considers this for a few seconds before collapsing into tommy’s arms, shaking and sobbing. “pl-pleas-e don’t, plea-se d-don’t hurt me,” he chokes out, hoping everything his best friend has just said is the truth. tommy’s body is warm, and the blonde envelopes tubbo in a firm hold. “i won’t. it’s okay, tubs. you’re okay.”

the next few minutes feel like hours and seconds both at once, tubbo thinks. he’s calmed down now, he thinks. it’s easier to breathe now. he’s not crying (as much) now. he feels safe now. safe in tommy’s arms.

tubbo feels light-headed. he struggles to stay awake as tommy gently runs his fingers through the other’s messy brown hair, rocking him gently, whispering words that make tubbo feel like he’s okay again now.

he starts to drift off, and the last thing he hears is tommy’s voice. “you’re okay.”


	5. reflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please be warned that this chapter contains pretty graphic self-harm, delusions, and derealisation.
> 
> ????? a hundred kudos?? wow! thank you <3 i'm publishing this in a park. two of my irl friends are about to find it. hello.
> 
> edit: i forgot to say that this is the second-last chapter and i wrote it in an hour at 11pm last night because i decided the original chapter five belonged in the backstory segment of this little AU. also my friends never found this and i literally watched them scroll past it FDKJHSDK

tubbo stumbles into the bathroom late one night, having awoken from a truly unpleasant nightmare and found he’s run out of water in his glass. he holds onto the aforementioned glass, clutching it tightly so as not to drop it.

it’s dark. tubbo fumbles around looking for the light switch for a good ten seconds before eventually finding it to the left of the doorframe. it's always there. tubbo just forgets every time.

once the light has flickered on, tubbo turns the tap handle and fills his glass up with the clear liquid that rushes out from the aerator. taking a small sip, he turns to leave, but as he does so he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the sink, and can’t help but think that that just… isn’t him.

tubbo sets the glass down on the counter, looking his reflection in the eyes. the reflection stares back, and he half-expects it to reach out and grab him by the collar. _that’s not you._

the reflection has dark bags under its sunken blue eyes, indicative of fatigue, but tubbo’s not tired. its dark brown hair is messy and unkempt, and a long, faded, pink scar stretches across its neck, but tubbo had a shower a few hours ago, and his scars are pretty much healed… right? _that can’t be you._

tubbo waves slightly, and the reflection waves back. tubbo smiles uncertainly, and the reflection does the same. the reflection copies tubbo’s movements exactly, but this isn’t him. it’s not him. it’s a different person looking back at him through this goddamn mirror. _it’s not you._

tubbo flips his reflection off, ignoring the fact that the reflection’s middle finger flicks upward as well, grabs his water, and walks back out of the room, hitting the light switch on his way out.

* * *

laying in bed ten minutes later, tubbo still can’t shake the thought that his reflection is just… a different person. maybe it is. maybe tubbo is one of those creatures that techno used to tell him and tommy about when they were little. what were they called? vampires?

maybe tubbo’s one of those. maybe he doesn’t have a reflection, just a person trapped on the other side of the mirror forced to submit to the higher-ups and whatever they say to do. maybe reflections aren’t real. maybe tubbo isn’t real. maybe none of this is real, maybe it’s just all one big dream, or a young adult novel, or something.

if that’s possible, how can tubbo be sure that anything that supposedly happened actually did? maybe the world is real, but dream never did anything bad to tubbo. maybe he’s unknowingly manipulating everybody around him. maybe he’s lying, deceiving, distracting from everybody who actually needs help. tubbo needs help. or maybe he doesn’t. he’s not sure anymore.

maybe the scars that once littered his body were all in his head. maybe they were drawn-on. maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought.

tubbo is falling into a pit of endless ‘maybe’s. maybe this, maybe that. maybe he’s floating. maybe he can fly. maybe he’s already dead. maybe. maybe. _maybe_. it doesn’t feel like a proper word anymore.

he gets up suddenly. he wants the reflection to know that they’re not the same person, he’ll _show_ the reflection that they’re not the same person. he will. he’ll do it. he doesn’t know how, but he’ll do it.

he walks back into the bathroom, and the reflection is already there, waiting for him. they’re not the same person. no way. he feels his body trembling, and lets out a shaky, frustrated breath when the reflection’s body trembles right back at him. the reflection exhales with him. the only difference is that tubbo can hear himself. he can’t hear the reflection.

he can’t hear the reflection.

there! a difference! there it is. he knew it. he knew there was a difference. they’re not the same, they’re not the same, they’re not the same.

he laughs with a mixture of relief, faux delight, and… insanity. maybe he’s insane.

_maybe it’s the reflection you can hear, and not you._

maybe it’s the reflection he can hear, and not him.

still a difference, right?

_maybe it’s both of you._

“maybe it’s both of us,” tubbo says in a shaky voice.

a twisted, fucked up thought enters tubbo’s mind, and every single instinct he has screams _no! please don’t!_ at him. his hands won’t do what his brain wants. his left hand travels to wilbur’s razors that he uses to shave, lifting one up and bringing it to his right wrist. _no! please don’t!_ the blade slices messily, and tubbo thinks to himself absent-mindedly that this doesn’t hurt as much as he remembers it to. _no! please don’t!_ another cut. tubbo glances at the reflection, and the reflection stares back at him, so they’re standing in front of each other in an endless loop of a staring contest. _no! please don’t!_ another cut. the reflection is cutting itself just as tubbo is cutting himself. he panics, pressing the blade to his skin. _no! please don’t!_ another cut. blood drips down his arm toward his elbow. it’s warm and a pleasant, calming, crimson red. _no! please don’t!_ another cut. _no! please don’t!_ another cut. _no! please don’t!_ another cu-

tubbo drops the razor, and the tool falls to the tiled floor with a small crash. he lifts his right arm up to the mirror, and the reflection’s arm is just as mangled and disfigured as his.

they’re the same person.

tubbo feels dizzy. so dizzy. so tired. he senses that he’s about to pass out, and lets himself fall to the floor. as his head hits the tiles, he hears a distorted voice shout his name in alarm. he feels arms shaking him, and all he knows is that he and the reflection are the same person.

he knows no more.

* * *

when tubbo wakes up in the hospital fifteen hours later, they all tell him that he was experiencing derealisation, that he lost control of himself while having an ‘out-of-body experience’.

bullshit.

tubbo knows what happened.


	6. snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please be warned that this chapter contains referenced torture, a panic attack, and implied self-harm (only briefly though!).
> 
> this is the last chapter, but there is more to this AU! i am currently writing backstory oneshot type things, and will publish them when they're all finished, which shouldn't take more than a week or so.

“bye, niki!” wilbur calls, waving over his shoulder as his friend disappears into the house next door. he opens the front door of his own home, being careful to close it gently behind him so as not to wake up tommy, tubbo, or ranboo.

it’s just them in the house, the others having moved into their own places by now. wilbur likes it being just the four of them. it’s nice. peaceful. they've renovated the building, adding another storey and a basement to make the house feel less cramped. still cosy, just a little more space now. (wilbur's honestly not sure _how_ it felt cramped before, it just… did.)

after setting his bag down next to the door, he sighs and sinks slowly onto the couch, running a hand through his hair. it’s been a good day today, but as always after prolonged social interaction, wilbur is exhausted. all he wants is to read a book for a while, and then go to sleep.

he acts on the former action, fishing a book that he knows is there out from between the couch cushions. it’s an old book, one from tubbo’s childhood that he insisted on learning off by heart. wilbur must have read this to him a thousand times by now- a repetitive cycle of the same words, over and over, every single night, until tubbo could recite every word of the sixty-two pages that the book was comprised of. wilbur remembers how tubbo tried to read it himself first, before walking into wilbur’s room late one night with tears in his eyes and the book under his arm. “the words don’t make sense,” he had said, staring at the book with a look of pure despair in his eyes.

now, the book is… well, ruined. the pages are dog-eared, yellowing, and nearly falling out, the front cover is peeling, and the spine is practically broken off. wilbur smiles, opening the book cautiously. he then instantly breaks into a coughing fit as a cloud of dust flies up.

“jesus christ,” he mutters quietly to himself when the dust particles clear. he flicks through the pages, smiling wistfully at the cutesy illustrations and familiar words.

wilbur is suddenly hit by a wave of bitter-sweet nostalgia, remembering a happier time in all their lives. a time when none of them were really all that traumatised or mentally ill or anything.

he traces the words on page twenty-eight with his index finger, mouthing the words under his breath. “safra will find a way back home. she knows she will bec-”

“because she always does,” says a soft voice from the hallway, and wilbur turns around to see tubbo standing there. “ _safra’s journey to hope_ , huh?”

“hey tubbo! sorry if i made too much noise,” he apologises, and tubbo shakes his head, walking toward the couch. “it’s all good, i wasn’t asleep anyway.“

wilbur pats the space next to him indicatively, and tubbo sits down as prompted. “so why weren’t you asleep? it’s, like,” wilbur glances at the clock on the wall, “two in the morning.”

“i know,” tubbo replies, gently tugging the book out of the elder’s hands and making a face at the dust coating the front cover. “ranboo had a nightmare and woke up at around eleven, so tommy and i spent a while calming him down, then tommy went to sleep but i couldn’t. so i didn’t.”

wilbur nods, taking the book back to brush at the dust. “did something that happened in the nightmare trigger you? you alright?” he asks carefully, knowing that even though it’s been a year since everything and tubbo has gotten so much better, his brother still needs people to tread on at least a couple of eggshells when discussing his trauma. knowing that he’s still damaged, knowing that he’ll never be fully okay again.

tubbo shrugs. “dunno. i just walked out of his room and my mind just felt… foggy? i dunno,” he says again, biting his lip. “it was weird.”

“maybe you should get some sleep?”

“well, as i said, i can’t. i did try, though! for about half an hour,” tubbo sounds proud of this, so wilbur smiles. “well, i’m glad you tried, even if it didn’t work.”

the two sit in silence for a while, and tubbo gives a small smile as they both hear the telltale _pitter-patter_ of rain on the roof. “tommy and ranboo and i were thinking we’d make a cake tomorrow, would you want to make it with us?”

wilbur ponders this, eventually responding with, “what kind of cake?”

“carrot, obviously. not like tommy will eat any other sort.” wilbur chuckles, shaking his head. “alright then, sure. as long as i don’t have to be awake before eleven in the morning, i’ll help with the cake.”

tubbo properly grins this time. “okay, great! that’s good. i’m… i’m happy.”

wilbur really is proud of tubbo. his little brother isn’t the greatest at expressing emotions, least of all negative ones, usually bottling them all up until they spill out in some unhealthy way such as violence- to himself, mainly, but occasionally to wilbur’s hand, which he allows tubbo to squeeze as hard as he wants during panic attacks, flashbacks and the like. so he’s glad tubbo is able to say, straight-up, that he’s happy. he knows it’s hard.

“good job, tubbo,” he says warmly, squeezing his brother’s scarred hand gently. “i’m proud of you for being happy, and for saying that you are. moving past our old system… is that hard?”

the old system is that- an old system that wilbur and tubbo developed for when the latter couldn’t voice his feelings properly. wilbur would ask how he was, and he would reply with the exact opposite of how he felt. this had caused a few problems in the past, the most memorable being when quackity overheard wilbur say, “that’s great!” after tubbo said he wanted to die. horrified stares and frantic explanations had followed, and that was when they decided this system might not be working.

“a bit, yeah,” tubbo says, his right-hand fingers beginning to tap on his knee repeatedly. the elder senses that his brother is becoming uncomfortable and quickly lets go of his hand. “we don’t have to talk about it anymore if you don’t want, tubs. it’s okay.”

tubbo smiles gratefully, but doesn’t stop tapping. “yeah, i’d like that. thanks.” wilbur nods. “wanna see if you can get some sleep now?”

“nah,” tubbo says, the speed of his tapping increasing tenfold. “i don’t think that’d be a good idea, if i’m being honest.”

“okay, want me to stay up with you?”

“no. actually, yes? no? maybe? yes. i don’t know,” tubbo says, changing his verdict about five times throughout the sentence. wilbur laughs, closing his eyes briefly. “fair enough, want to think for a moment and then give me an answer?”

“yes, please.”

so wilbur waits, sitting there watching his brother’s features contort in what he presumes to be fickle-mindedness, as his tapping grows ever faster. eventually, he says, “yes. i’d like you to stay up with me, but i’d also like to go outside and watch the rain and i don’t know if you want to do that so if you don’t want to do that you don’t have to do that and you can go to sleep because you look tired and i think i would feel really bad if you stayed up longer than you should because of me, you do that a lot anyw-”

“woah, tubbo, slow down,” wilbur says, gripping tubbo’s arms and pulling his hands away from his legs. “it’s okay, you’re okay. i’ll go outside with you, yeah?”

tubbo nods in a nearly dazed manner, and wilbur taps his cheek lightly. “tubbo? you still with me?”

“yes,” tubbo says after a few seconds. “yes. sorry. i just got- got stuck thinking about… about…” he trails off, looking distressed.

“you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, tubs. it’s okay. remember that you’re here, you’re safe, you’re okay, no-one can hurt you now.” wilbur knows how to avoid tubbo’s breakdowns now. knows how to prevent them from happening before they properly start.

tubbo draws a shaky breath in and a rushed one out, and wilbur pulls him to his chest. “breathe with me, tubs. breathe with me. you’re okay.”

he staggers his breathing, making sure it’s not too hard for tubbo to keep up with, and the boy breathes with him, seemingly making a big effort. after a few minutes of this, tubbo’s breathing has evened out and his entire body no longer feels tense.

“you okay?” wilbur murmurs, pulling back to get a good look at his brother's face. he’s not crying. that's good. breakdown avoided. nice. pog, as tommy would say.

tubbo shakes his head in what wilbur assumes is an attempt to clear his mind. “yeah, i’m- sorry, wilbur. sorry. can we- outside now?”

“sure.”

they walk outside, and the door closes behind them with a soft _thunk_. wilbur inhales the familiar petrichor, and sits tubbo down on one of the four small spruce wood chairs that live on the front porch, and then himself on another. “do you wanna talk about it?”

tubbo purses his lips for a few seconds, and then bursts out, “i just don't get it! why do- why do i still have nightmares and flashbacks and panic attacks and all that stuff so frequently when tommy and ranboo have been through so much as well, maybe even more, but they can go so long without having any of those things? why? am i just weak? am i just pathetic? why is it-” he pauses to take a breath, huffing in frustration. “i just don’t understand why i’m still affected by shit. it’s been over a year now. i should be fine. i don’t get why i’m not,” he finishes, looking down as if ashamed.

wilbur would be lying if he said he was surprised about this outburst. tubbo has made so much progress in the past year or so for somebody who’s been through what he has, and wilbur knows it must be upsetting for the younger to know that he’s still not okay, even after so many therapy sessions, even after so many different medications, even after so much comfort and reassurance. so he smiles sadly and says, “you’re not fine, and you don’t have to be. you won’t ever be, i’m not going to lie to you. you were literally tortured for nearly five months straight, tubbo. you wouldn’t expect tommy or ranboo to be okay a year after that, right?”

“it’s- it’s different for them. it could have been worse.”

“don’t do that,” wilbur scolds lightly, turning tubbo towards him, pulling his face up gently. “look at me, please,” he says as tubbo resists his touch. the latter obeys nearly immediately, tears gathering in his eyes. wilbur wipes them away with his sleeve before they can fall. “look,” he says, bringing his hand back to his side. “you can’t compare your issues to tommy’s and ranboo’s. you’ve all been through hell and back- quite literally, if you take the nether into account. your shit isn’t worse than theirs, and vice versa. you all have very different coping mechanisms, and that’s okay. it just means you heal from things at different paces. eventually you’ll get to the same point that they’re at now, you won’t have breakdowns as often, and they won’t be as severe. just never say that what happened to them is worse than what happened to you, because that’s both morally and objectively wrong. it doesn’t matter if it ‘could have been worse’ or whatever, all that matters is that we’re all safe, and we’re all healing. even if it is a slow process.”

“you just said i’ll never be fine.”

“fine and okay are different things. you’ll never be fine, but you will be okay,” wilbur says good-naturedly, and tubbo gives a small smile, and then gasps. “look!”

wilbur glances over his shoulder to where tubbo’s pointing. it’s begun to snow, white flakes of pure frost floating down from the night sky and onto the already damp earth. wilbur chuckles at his brother’s delighted expression, standing up. “do you want to go out for a bit?”

tubbo nods excitedly. “hold on! i’ll get my boots.” he rushes inside to grab said boots, and wilbur smiles fondly at his disappearing frame. all three of his younger brothers are now nearly nineteen, but they all still act like children a lot of the time. wilbur doesn’t mind it. he actually kind of likes it, if he’s being perfectly honest. they deserve childhood. they deserve to be okay. it’s a shame none of them got that chance earlier in their lives.

wilbur hears a small crash from inside and bursts through the door, only to find tubbo and ranboo standing on either side of a broken cup on the living room floor. the latter yawns, stretching. “hey, wilb’r.”

“hi ranboo- what just happened, are you guys okay?”

“we’re okay! i just accidentally bumped into ranboo. sorry, ranboo,” tubbo says guiltily, and ranboo reaches over to ruffle his chocolate-brown hair. “’s okay, bubs. don’t worry about it. i’ll just clean this up. ’s no prob’m.”

wilbur sighs in relief, walking over to them and carefully picking the shards of glass up, wrapping the sleeves of his sweater over his palms first. “i’ll clean this up, ranby. where’s the child?” wilbur is referring to tommy, the youngest of his brothers, and therefore affectionately dubbed ‘the child’. ranboo rubs his heterochromatic eyes, shaking his head slightly. “asleep, prob’ly. what’re you guys doing awake, though?”

“snow,” tubbo says happily, and ranboo's eyebrows shoot up immediately. “okay, ’m comin’ out too, if that's a’ight."

wilbur knows ranboo likes snow, so he nods and says that’s okay. he half-listens to tubbo’s and ranboo’s conversation as he retrieves the broken cup from the floor, catching words like “nightmare”, “okay”, and “sorry”. wilbur tries to tune their voices out, not wanting to eavesdrop, and so he doesn’t notice when tommy walks into the room. he’s then painfully aware of his youngest brother's presence as the blond taps wilbur’s shoulder impatiently. “wilby, wilby, wilby, wilby, wilbur, wilbruh, big wuh, wilbur, bitch, wilby, wilbs, wilbutt, wilbro, dickhead, _wilbur_ -”

“jesus, what?!” wilbur snaps, turning his head. tommy pouts, crossing his arms. “wilbur, i am hungry.”

wilbur stares for a moment, and then turns back to his meticulous glass-cleaning. “there's bread. you can eat bread. it's fresh.”

“wilbur, i do not want bread.”

“fuck off then,” wilbur says light-heartedly, standing up to deposit the glass in the garbage bin.

tommy huffs. “why are we all awake, anyway? bit late, innit?”

“it’s snowing,” tubbo says excitedly, bouncing up and down on his heels. tommy smiles, holding his arms out as an invitation for tubbo to hug him. the brunet obliges, sinking into his brother's warm embrace. “so are we going out?” tommy asks.

“yes,” wilbur and ranboo say in unison, and the former grins. “if we have a snowball fight, i would like to make it abundantly clear in advance that i will be destroying all three of you. you can quote me on that.”

so they all walk outside, gloves, boots, and jackets on, fatigue replaced by adrenaline. wilbur is the last one out, and so he closes the door. tommy immediately takes this opportunity to scoop up a sizeable ball of snow and chuck it towards wilbur. the snowball would hit the back of the musician’s head, but he turns just in time for it to smack him right in the middle of his face. he gasps and stares at tommy, who’s doubled over laughing, with a look of utter shock on his face.

“tomathy,” wilbur says ominously, stepping off the porch with his eyes trained on tommy’s. tubbo and ranboo stand to the side, desperately trying not to burst out laughing. eventually, they break as wilbur bends over briefly and then launches a pear-shaped snowball at tommy, the blond shrieking loudly and attempting (failing) to move out of the way in time.

ten minutes later, the aftermath of complete and utter chaos is what befalls the soot family’s front garden. tubbo’s lilies have nearly been squashed twice. wilbur lays on the white ground with tommy, tubbo, and ranboo sitting around- or, in tommy’s case, _on_ \- him. he sighs, defeated. “fine. okay. you win. let me up please, tommy.”

tommy doesn’t, and ranboo chuckles. “what was it that you said, will? ‘if we have a snowball fight, i would like to make it abundantly clear in advance that i will be destroying all three of you’? ‘you can quote me on that’?”

“shut up,” wilbur groans, trying and failing to push tommy off of him. “tommy! _off_.”

tommy pays him no heed, shifting to be in a better sitting position and ignoring his brother’s protests. “jeez, ranboo. memory boy did us a three-sixty! that’s literally verbatim of what he said.” ranboo snorts. “nah, i’m just a bitch.”

“any truers?” tommy whisper-shouts, reaching out to high-five ranboo.

tubbo’s eyes droop and his small frame slumps slightly. tommy seems to notice this and immediately stands up to move closer to the brunet. wilbur can’t even put how grateful he is for this into words, and sits up, rubbing his back. he then diverts all his attention to tubbo, who appears to be falling asleep. tommy pulls the aforementioned boy up by his shoulders gently, and ranboo hastily stands up to assist before they both fall over. wilbur gets up as well. “inside now?” he asks quietly, so as not to startle or wake up tubbo. tommy nods, and they all head inside.

* * *

wilbur and his three brothers sit on the couch a few minutes later, tubbo nearly asleep with his head nestling on tommy’s chest, and ranboo struggling to take his boots off. it’s around three in the morning, as the clock shows, and wilbur yawns, getting bored of ranboo’s struggle and bending down to take them off for him. “okay, i think we should all get some rest now if we want to bake that cake tomorrow,” he says after freeing ranboo’s feet, standing up. “you two okay to move tubbo up to his room, or do you want me to help?

“we’re good,” ranboo reassures him, waving a stark-white hand nonchalantly. “don’t worry. you should go to sleep, we will soon as well.”

“as long as your version of ‘soon’ adheres to the rest of society’s. like, within ten minutes would be good,” wilbur says sceptically.

“fuck society! holy shit. i absolutely hate society. i also hate _you_ , wilbur,” tommy replies before ranboo can even open his mouth, sticking his middle finger up at the eldest. tubbo stirs slightly, and tommy instantly runs his finger through the smaller’s wavy brown hair. wilbur expects this is a safe code of sorts, something to let tubbo know he's safe.

wilbur rolls his eyes, watching as tubbo’s peaceful expression comes back onto his face. “sure you do, toms. alright then- i’m off to bed. don't stay up _too_ late, make sure tubbo has blankets- and a note if you leave him alone, yeah?”

leaving notes for tubbo to read when he wakes up is important. they always say something along the lines of ‘in another room, you're safe though’. they have to be different each time, or the boy gets all anxious and jumpy, even after he knows he’s safe. tubbo keeps every single note and hoards them in a small chest next to his bed.

“yep, got it,” ranboo confirms, nodding and giving wilbur a thumbs-up. “bed in ten minutes. carry tubbo up to his room. blankets. leave a note. night, wilbur.”

“night, dickhead,” tommy says in that tone of voice that isn’t quite sarcastic, but also isn’t light-hearted, and that nobody really knows how to describe. maybe it’s loving. maybe it’s affectionate. wilbur isn’t sure.

wilbur waves and walks up the stairs to his bedroom. he wasn’t born yesterday. he knows he could walk down the stairs in an hour’s time and at least one of them would still be awake. he knows he'll walk down the stairs in eight or nine hours’ time and find them all passed out there with a blanket barely on top of them. he doesn't really mind. he just has to keep the ‘mature, charismatic eldest brother’ act up for as long as he can- around everybody. nobody can know he’s not as sensible and rule-loving as he sometimes makes himself out to be. (everybody knows. wilbur pretends they don’t.)

wilbur loves his family, chaotic and loud as they are. ranboo, older than tubbo by a mere thirteen days. hilarious, opinionated, and adventurous. tubbo, the middle child- or at least the middle younger brother. pure, sweet, with just a pinch of chaos. tommy, the child. kind, boisterous, and passionate. all intelligent as hell. they’ll come as they are, and wilbur wouldn't change that for the world.

he flops down on his soft bed, yellow blankets puffing up around him. his pillow is inviting, and he feels his eyes closing shut.

life is good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wsjdfkjfdh?? wow?? okay so i'm gonna get emotional in main rn bc wow?? when i published the first chapter of this, the only thing that i wanted was for it to just... be somewhere, if that makes sense. i didn't think anyone would like it, or even read it. but within the first few hours i had around eight kudos and i said to one of my friends on call, "hey i published a shitty fanfiction on ao3 and it's got a few kudos!" and they said, "that's cool!" and we continued to play minecraft. and then for the next few days i was sending them screenshots of the rise in hits and kudos and the kind comments and everything, and it's just... been really cool. thank you guys so much.
> 
> please tell me if there are any tags or TWs i should add! i am not very good at thinking of things.
> 
> again, thank you for the surreal experience, and i'll see you guys in around a week <3


End file.
